Kingdom Come
by Stay70573
Summary: My mild return to story writing, I've been writing this as I go, so in truth, I have the barest points of a story. In this realm, where many kingdoms have joined together to form the Capital, a single act can lead to the most dire of consequences. A plot to overthrow the President, a young man who just won't give up, and an endgame that would shatter the realm. AU verse
1. Prologue: Conspiracy

Prologue: The Darkest of Nights

The corridor in which Razoul walked had always managed to bring dread to his core, even if it was well past his hundredth time doing so. The hallway was long, but narrow, almost claustrophobically so, with a dark crimson coat of paint and lights dim enough to make it feel like the walls wanted to swallow you whole. But alas, for poor Razoul, he was forced to walk this path, for at the end lay a majestic, if not sinister door, the lair of his boss. He tentatively reached for the polished brass knob, but stopped just shy of opening it, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard. He shut his eyes, the heat that emanated from the room, coupled with his fear, causing sweat drop to roll down his forehead. He found what little courage he had and grasped the doorknob. It was warm, almost as if it had been recently used, but he knew that was not true, but it did little to soothe his rising despair. He opened the door and stepped inside, quickly shutting it and turning to face his master. The room itself was as equally as despairing as the hall, with the same crimson paint and equally, if not dimmer lighting. There were a few pillars that dotted the walls, each with their own golden trim, and brass candles adorning each, their flames dancing in chaos. The room smelled sweet, a faint cloud of smoke hung in the air, the smell of burning tobacco lingering. The source, an ornate hookah, which sat next to an equally ornate black desk, was still lit. At the desk, which held sparse, but expensive looking trinkets, was a chair whose back faced Razoul, occasional puffs of smoking escaping its occupant's mouth. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the voice spoke, a smooth, yet sinister one.

"You are _late_."

Razoul swallowed, finding himself compelled to kneel to the voice. Instead he merely kept his composure as best he could.

"My apologies sir, but th-"

A thin bony hand appeared from the side of the chair, ordering him to silence himself, which Razoul complied.

"I don't want your excuses."

The red silk chair swiveled around to face him, its occupant revealed in full. The man was tall, but thin, sporting a long moustache which curled around his face and drooped down to become a twisted beard, the only hair on his head, save for his rather large and curved eyebrows. His skin was dark, almost tanned, though the blackout curtains would indicate that the sun barely reached the man's skin. He wore a black three piece suit that sported thin red stripes, a red dress shirt beneath, and a yellow tie that was held in place by a small golden scarab tie tack. His hands were folded together, and he gave Razoul a sigh of annoyance.

"Well go on, what is it?"

Razoul swallowed, his collar becoming far too tight.

"It's Gazeem sir. He's been arrested."

He winced as he saw his master's nostrils, flair, and his hands swiftly unclasping and slamming down onto the desk.

"WHAT?! HOW COULD YOU LET HIM GET CAUGHT!?"

He reached to the side, retrieving a golden cane that sported an ominous open mouthed cobra with ruby eyes. He stood up, though he did not lean on the cane as a support. He pointed the mouth at Razoul, but after a few tense seconds, he lowered it and returned to his seat. Razoul released a breath he was unaware he was holding, and watched as his employer took the hookah and inhaled deeply. As he let out a long breath of smoke, his mood seemed to relax. After another minute of silence, he began to rub his right temple.

"It matters not I suppose, he was obviously less than worthy. I suppose this means I have to speed up my plans, and in turn, the plans which involved him have come to an end. He did deliver the package yes?"

Razoul nodded, fumbling around his pockets until he retrieved a golden scarab, a larger version of the tie tack his superior wore. He handed it to him, the eyes of his employer growing wide with greed as he snatched it up. He held it up to what little light the room held, a faint, and almost mystical sheen was given off by the trinket.

"Yes… Most excellent. Now then, Gazeem is now a liability, and I want him silenced before he spills his guts to the police. So I want you to spill his guts for him… All over that dingy cell floor. Have I made myself clear? Or… Do you need a sample of what failing me means?"

He raised his cane once more, but Razoul needed no example, and instead began to vigorously nod his head as he spoke, his words a fumbled mess.

"Yes sir! I mean no sir! I mean… I shall do as you asked."

The man smirked as he lowered his cane.

"Good… Make sure him, nor can the crime be linked to me. Now get out of my sight, I have business to attend to."

Razoul nodded and swiftly made his way out, which, before he could exit, a small man came in. He had red hair in a mess, though no facial hair, and wore a surprisingly colourful red, blue, and yellow outfit, one that could only be described as tropical. On most it looked fruity, but on Iago it seemed to work. Razoul gave the man a nod as he made his retreat back to the elevator, watching as the door closed behind him.

Iago turned to his master, eyeing the golden scarab with the same greedy lust. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and high pitched, a stark contrast to his employer.

"We have it?"

The man grinned as he stroked his beard.

"Indeed we do. Now, did you bring me what I asked?"

Iago nodded, placing the small black device on the table before stepping back.

"Thank you Iago. Now, I must make a call, if you'd be so kind as to step out?"

Iago nodded, then made a hasty exit, shutting the door behind him. The sole occupant looked down, pressing a button on his desk that caused the whole surface to light up. He tapped a few buttons, swiped a few screens, and then sat back in his chair. The surface went dark, then a light appeared from the center, opening up into a hologram projector. The screen remained white for a few moments before it flicked to life, a woman appearing on the screen. She was as bony as he, though the difference was her skin was an almost pale green. Her eyes were sharp, as were her cheeks and nose, and when she spoke, there was a certain elegance of a long forgotten age.

"Jafar, a pleasure as always."

Jafar nodded, knowing only his face was being projected back.

"Maleficent, the pleasure is all mine. I trust the others will be joining us shortly?"

She nodded, and as if to emphasize her point, a second screen appeared, this time an African man appeared. He had long black hair, and goatee of the same dark lustre which length could almost rival Jafar's. On his left eye lay a large gash, one that somehow managed to enhance the greens of his iris'. He gave both of current occupants a nod before speaking, his tone a deep, melodious British accent.

"Good evening."

Jafar and Maleficent gave a nod of acknowledgement, though only Jafar gave a verbal reply.

"Scar, good evening to you as well. I trust the hunt has been going well?"

Scar smirked and nodded.

"Of course, those mangy mutts are far too eager to hunt, making my tasks much easier. But we can save the pleasantries for later, I believe we have business to attend to."

"Yes, of course, but we are still waiting for-"

"Jaffy, my friend!"

Jafar sighed at the nickname as a new pair of new screens appeared, the first, which was the source of the swift and almost slimy voice, being a man of imposing stature, with a long chin and skin of a grey tone. His hair was odd, the grey dyed to the point of being an almost blueish tinge, and his teeth were, though clean and straight, a bit more pointed than normal. The second was a rotund woman whose white hair reminded Jafar of that disgusting soft serve ice cream that most junk food places sold. Her skin was also a strange tone, hers purplish in tinge, and he now had no doubts that Ursula, Hades, and Maleficent all had cybernetic implants, ones that gave them extraordinary abilities, but as it seemed, at the cost of some skin and hair abnormalities. He had guessed at first, but he decided for the sake of niceties, he would refrain from commenting. However, his suspicions were confirmed as Hades took a cigar into his mouth, then, using his finger and thumb, created a flame as if his thumb were a lighter. The flame itself was blue, and he wondered if that was a by-product, or if it was simply a choice that they could make.

"Good Evening Hades. You as well Ursula. Now then, who, exactly, are we waiting for?"

Maleficent did a quick count.

"It appears we are missing James, Cruella, Grimhilde, Facilier, and our benefactor."

Ursula gave a huff at the mention of their benefactor.

"Hmph, doesn't say much, does he?"

Maleficent rolled her eyes.

"Maybe, but he's also the one who organized and funded this, so I have nothing else to say about the subject."

Before Ursula could continue, three more screens appeared, the first being what appeared to be a man of the seafaring nature. That, or whatever was rocking his home was very chaotic. He wore ridiculous wide brimmed hat which held an even more ridiculous feather, though none dared to question, as it wasn't any of their business anyways. He had long black hair that waved and curled, along with a thin pencil moustache that extended past his cheeks. He reached up and scratched his chin stubble with his left hand, revealing a mechanical hook like appendage, which disappeared as he lowered it. The second screen was another man, he too another African, though when he greeted them, a southern drawl could be heard. He also had a pencil thin moustache, though his wrapped and curled around his lips instead. When he smiled, there was a small gap between his two front teeth, which gave a simultaneous feeling of friendliness and smarmy. The last was the fashion mogul known as Cruella De Ville, known for being a ruthless and near tyrannical CEO. She had hair that was split neatly in half between white and black, along with bony features. Though the camera could only pick up hair and face, the background of her image showed a mass of fur, no doubt from one of her coats. It was once more Maleficent who spoke, and as it went, appeared to be their leader in their affairs.

"Excellent. Now all we need is Grimhilde and our benefactor, and our little circle will be complete."

The others, as they waited, talked idly, or rather, Ursula and Cruella talked while the others kept to themselves. James was fiddling with his device, not really use to such new equipment, while Scar seemed utterly bored with the situation, one hand used as a support for his cheek, the other drumming uninterestedly on what they presumed as a desk. After another few moments, a screen arrived, a woman's face appearing. She was a middle aged woman by all appearances, but even Jafar could not deny there was a certain beauty to her that many lacked. She wore quite a bit of makeup, the blush on her cheeks and the sheen of lipstick unmistakable, and she said nothing to the assembled members, only fiddling with a hand held mirror. Jafar, however, knew that, despite her vanity, Grimhilde was not only a member of the current presiding royal families, but also a very powerful woman. It was for those reasons none dared to question her tardiness, nor toss a callous remark at her for fiddling with cosmetics.

"And so we wait for a benefactor. How quaint."

It was Scar who spoke, his tone indicating he was bored to tears. James growled and slammed his fist on the table, the sudden rocking of his screen and the sound indication of that.

"Blast it, where is he? This be the third time we've had to wait for the blig-"

James stopped abruptly as the final screen appeared, his face turning slightly pale, for he had no desire to insult their benefactor. The screen remained black, the usual, as they had only ever communicated by voice with him, assuming there wasn't a voice changer in use. However, much to their collective surprise, a pair of yellow eyes emerged from the darkness, followed by the distinct voice. It was like a cold air had swept through every room as he spoke, his tone harsh, though it was not directed. Rather, it was like a man who had seen too much in his lifetime, and was far too bitter and jaded to speak to people with ease. It was a deep voice too, one that, with a little increase in volume, would have shaken the room.

"Good Evening my fellows. At last, we are here. And, as it were, I have found the final three members of our inner circle, bringing us to thirteen."

Jafar quirked an eyebrow, surprised more were being added to the mix. He had been given little details, his involvement, much like the others, done by way of an invitation, with promise of wealth and their wildest dreams. Jafar was a man who preferred to find such invitations to be folly, but he found himself compelled to answer the call, and was indeed rewarded for doing so to the tune of 15 million credits, along with the first six who also answered. He could have left too, but the promise of riches and rewards was far to enticing, and here he was now. Yet for all the reward, he had no real idea what was required of them. The only instructions they were given were to retrieve a few important items, though their benefactor failed to mention their true significance. However, Jafar knew what he held was in fact the key to the vaults of Agrabah, for he still served the 'Sultan', a fat pompous man who became CEO of the Agrabah industries corporation, no doubt due to his linage. Alas the man was an utter fool, and Jafar was more or less the true power behind the company. However, he wondered what, exactly, they required the key for, seeing as the reward he was given was quite a large sum, so the idea of stealing credits seemed unnecessary. He vaguely heard Ursula mumbling about the idea of an inner circle, but was silenced by a noise from their benefactor. They heard the sound of a button being pressed, and the three aforementioned members appeared on their own screens. The first was a young man, no later than his mid-twenties. He had a full head of black hair, and his features were chiseled, much like a statute of Grecian myth. He had a self-assured smirk on his lips, no doubt finding himself to be important to everyone around him, but luckily he said nothing. The second was a woman everyone in the group recognized as the Queen of Hearts, another royal, much like Grimhilde. However, unlike her, the Queen of Hearts was a fat pompous woman, one whose face barely fit into the screen. She seemed to have a perpetual scowl on her face, but said nothing as well. The last, however, disturbed Jafar, which was by no means an easy feat. It was a large man, or what he presumed was a man, wearing on his face what appeared to be a hooded mask made of burlap. He imagined there should have been eyes or a mouth, but there only appeared to be darkness beneath the cut outs where those should have been. But what disturbed Jafar was the fact it looks like the man's skin was crawling, as if there were bugs underneath. Jafar eyed the others, and all seemed to be as disturbed as he, save for their benefactor. However, the burlap man spoke up, his voice a heavy one laced with a slight southern drawl.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

He gave a harsh laugh, throwing his head back, revealing even more burlap. A few shuddered, but order was maintained by the sudden noise that garnered everyone's attention. They all focused on their benefactor.

"Good, we're all here. And now that I have your attention, I feel it's time to let you all in on what is going on."

Most waited patiently, but a Scar, Hades, James and Ursula looked unimpressed.

"I think before we continue any further, I'd like to know exactly for whom we all speak to."

The other malcontents nodded at Scar's comment, and all eyes turned to face their benefactor, all agreeing, though only the malcontents voicing concerns. Their benefactor sighed, his eyes closing slightly, but they could see the outline of his head shaking in defeat.

"I suppose you are correct. Very well, allow me to introduce myself."

There was a faint movement off to the side, and they heard the click before the lamp turned on. As soon as their mysterious benefactor's face was revealed, every single person, save for the recently introduced young man, gasped at their patron's identity. Cruella raised a finger to the screen, pointing it towards the camera.

"You're-"

The man smirked, his camera wider, revealing himself sitting at a desk.

"Yes, I am Vice President Bog, and the reason I have gathered you all here… Well… It's because I think I would like a promotion."


	2. Chapter 1: By Chance of a Mongolian

**So! First chapter eh? Not hugely happy with it, but I did want to finish this chapter. Anyways! Read, review, same old stuff. If you like it, let me know! If you want to see stuff, let me know! I'm not sure exactly where this story is going, so I'm quite happy to listen to ideas! Now, on to the story!**

* * *

Chapter One: By chance of a Mongolian.

As the red and orange skies breathed their last, the sun shrinking away into the horizon, the night wind howled, and the once bright skies turned to a star filled night. It was not normally the type of atmosphere Razoul preferred to work in, but he knew the importance of his mission. Razoul was by no means a small man, his size and bulk making sneaking a daunting task. But most things in Agrabah died down past the sunset, and the once busy streets were now fairly empty, save for a few beggars and vagabonds. Razoul was also fairly inconspicuous in attire, wearing a simple black vest over a black dress shirt, with black pants and shoes, as well as the official Agrabah guard turban. He had facial hair that was well groomed, though he did have missing teeth and some scars, but for the most part he was playing the part of a royal guard as ever. Even the scimitar he wore, which, while sharp, was almost purely for theatrics, and thus, most become accustom to the royal guards wearing them. However, as tonight was to be, the blade, and its master, would yearn for blood. From what the police report said, Gazeem was being held within the Main Street Police Quarters for numerous outstanding arrest warrants on larceny and murder, as well as a current arrest for breaking and entering and attempted larceny. Luckily, there was no real interest in processing him, as at the moment, there were a few other criminals locked up that were of much more important value to the Capital whose trials and processing were far more high key.

Razoul knew all the main roads well enough, the city limits that bordered the Capital a well-guarded and patrolled area, and the actual distance between Agrabah and the Capital walkable. The border guards recognized him immediately, allowing him to pass without question, and as he met the Capital guard, he merely flashed his identification card, and the men let him through. As Razoul passed through the main gates and onto Adventureland Street, a name he thought terribly stupid, he couldn't help but be both awed and disgusted. Agrabah was a fairly advanced state, but they tried to maintain their heritage in their architecture. Here, however, had done so in a cheesy fashion, for the lands that bordered Agrabah, Port Royal, the Pride Lands, and the Jungle, were considered by the Capital Tourism board to be "Adventure Land", hence the stupid name. And with the name came this push to make the area look like a wild land. However, that only managed to make the place look like a neon jungle, and, while the vast amount of technology was impressive, its application here was pathetic. Razoul sneered at a mechanical neon monkey that hung from a sign, but pressed onwards. He endured the insulting neon signs for another few minutes of walking until he at last reached Main Street. To be frank, the area was not much better with the neon, but at least it wasn't as tacky. However, as far as appearances went, Razoul stuck out like a sore thumb. Most night goers were young men and women looking to party from bar to bar, most respectable adults now sitting at home finishing their dinners. Razoul rolled his eyes at the groups of party goers, ignoring the cat calls and whistles he got for dressing as he did, most thinking he was some kind of entertainment for a bar. He marched his way down the street, bumping into drunken rouble rousers with little care, knocking a few over in the process. One, who was far too drunk to even think of his actions attempted to fight Razoul, only to be knocked out with a punch to the face. As he drew closer to the Castle, the main hub for all dealings within the Capital, the neon signs began to vanish, and a more industrial and professional area began to shine. This was the area Razoul liked, for here he felt he could find a more respectable crowd, though at this time of the night, most streets were empty. That, and what he was about to do meant he was going to be a part of the less savoury crowd. He saw the large golden police symbol on a large building not three blocks away, and he quickened his pace. He knew the station would not be closed, but it was likely that they may not want visitors, for "official business and/or otherwise." As he drew near, he could see the building was mostly empty, most office windows dark, and the main lobby was empty, save for a lone officer who sat behind a desk. The young man looked up as the doors opened, a faint chime sounding as Razoul walked up to the desk.

"Good evening sir, if you're here to speak to an inmate, I'm afraid visiting hours are from-"

The officer had a slight southern drawl, but more farm boy than anything. Razoul held up his identification card for the officer to see.

"I am Captain Razoul Harisfasid of the Agrabah Royal Guard, and I'm here to return a criminal you apprehended to Agrabah to stand trial."

The officer, a Sergeant 'Horse', as his name plate showed, read the card, then leaned back into his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"Well, Captain, I'm Sergeant Horace Horatio, and as you know, any criminal caught within the Capital boundaries must, and will be tried for any crimes committed. Before they are then deported back to their country of origin."

Razoul sighed, putting away his identification badge.

"Yes, yes, I understand, but this criminal is of high importance to us. I believe you are holding a one Gazeem Alssariq?"

Sergeant Horace sighed and returned to an upright sitting position, leaning over his keyboard and typing the name in. He quirked an eyebrow and nodded.

"Yes, it says here he was caught breaking into the Cave of Wonders pawn shop, said he was after some kind of lamp. What is this about?"

Razoul sighed.

"I'd like to keep this between us, or at least, to the official report for your superiors only, but Mr. Alssariq is believed to be the accomplice of a man who has recently attempted to assassinate the Sultan."

Horace's eyes widened.

"What? Someone tried to-"

"Yes, but we would like to keep this off public records. The Sultan insists that if this was to become a public and Capital manner, it would make him look weak. He would prefer to keep this an internal affair."

Of course, none of it was true, but Horace believed it well enough. After all, he found no reason the Captain of the Guard would lie to him about such a thing.

"Well… I can't release him to you until tomorrow when I can speak to my captain, but I will try and cooperate as best I can in the matter."

Razoul sighed in annoyance, but faked a smile none the less.

"I hope you understand that, while disappointing, I do appreciate you offering to cooperate. Would it be possible to speak to the prisoner? I would very much like to try and get some information from him, maybe find out who he was working with. It would make my trip worthwhile."

Horace rubbed his chin for a moment, then sighed and nodded.

"Alright, I'll bring you to him. But please, no firearms in the prison section. If you'd be so kind as to leave your weapons here?"

Razoul nodded and relinquished his pistol and an army issued knife, but kept the scimitar sheathed on his belt. Horace nodded to the sword and Razoul cursed internally.

"I would prefer not to, this is an important ceremonial sword I wear, to us, removal of such a thing is considered sacrilege and a sign of weakness."

Horace exhaled and shook his head, but after a moment relented.

"Fine, but please do keep it sheathed."

Razoul nodded, and as the officer rose and beckoned him to follow, he smirked behind the sergeants back. The cellblock was a few corridors away, and the waited a moment as Horace fumbled around with his large ring of keys. Razoul was not paying much attention, but he did pay just enough to hear the man's question.

"So what do you think of the Capital."

Razoul shrugged.

"It's… alright. But far too much neon and bars for my tastes. I like this area though, much more professional and clean."

Sergeant Horatio nodded his head in agreement.

"Definitely, you have no idea how many calls we get nightly about drunks in the Downtown district. But hey, they're mostly harmless and it is a good source of revenue, so I can't complain."

After another thirty seconds he found the key and opened cell block C, the area where the more harmless criminals stayed. They walked halfway down the block, Razoul noticing a few sleeping bodies, but otherwise a mostly empty area. Perfect. Horace stopped at cell 8, opening the cell up for Razoul. The Royal Guardsmen gave Horace a smile and a nod of thanks.

"Much appreciated, but if it's alright with you, I would like to speak with the prisoner alone. I still wish this to remain as internal as possible you understand?"

Horace gave a huff of annoyance, his patience running thin, but he nodded his head and took a step back.

"Alright, but I'll be back in five minutes, after that I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Razoul nodded as Horace walked away, an evil grin on his lips as he looked around. No security cameras facing the cells. Perfect. He walked over to the sleep man and nudged him awake. The lumpy mass arose, groaning as it got out of the cot. He was a short man with ugly rags for clothes on and a mess of facial hair that looked more akin to a stray cat then human hair. He grumbled something in Arabic before turning to face the one who woke, but his sleepiness left him immediately.

"Razoul! Oh thank Allah you're here! You've come to get me out yes? I still need to get my reward."

Gazeem attempted to leave the cell, but Razoul blocked him from leaving, much to Gazeem's annoyance.

"What are you doing? Let's get out of here!"

Razoul said nothing, but the glint of his teeth bearing grin caused Gazeem to stumble backwards, his voice a trembling whisper.

"Razoul?"

Razoul took a step forward, his hand lowering to his side, and as Gazeem's eyes widened in fear, the only sound to escape his lips was a scream of terror. Unfortunately for Razoul, who quickly began to pretend to be shaken as the blood began to seep from Gazeem's opened throat, a pair of yellow eyes watched from the cell adjacent, the gaze curious and amused. The bald man inside smirked as Horace ran to the scene of the crime, and he stroked his wispy moustache as he watched, leaning against his cell wall.

"Well… This should be interesting."

In a tiny shop, just off Main Street.

"Now hold on a second, I never agreed to any assassination. I might be called the Shadow Man, and I certainly deal in shadowy things, but there ain't enough money you could pay me to EVER CONSIDER taking a swipe at the president."

Facilier was now backing away from his monitor, not wanting to even be involved with this plot. He was all for robbing a bank or killing an average Joe, but this? This was lunacy. But as he tried to move away, he felt a number of hands upon him, holding him in place. He turned to see his employer, whom he almost never saw in person, holding him down by the shoulder, and that alone frightened him. However, much to his surprise, Vice President Bog gave him a nod.

"Baron Samedi, a pleasure as always. I was unaware you were employing this man."

The man known as the Baron, who wore a purple and green suit and a strange voodoo mask to hide his identity, gave the vice president a nod of acknowledgement, but he said nothing. Mr. Bog spoke once more.

"Now, my good doctor, if you're under the employ of my dear Baron, then there is, in fact, a price I can pay you. Because with him, well, there's always a price to be paid. Besides, you're not the one doing the assassination. Mr. Gaston LeGume here will be."

All eyes turned to young man, who smirked and shifted, no doubt flexing his muscles off camera. James quirked an eyebrow and scratched his chin again.

"You? But why in name of Davy Jones would you be doing this for?"

Gaston LeGume smirked once more.

"For the challenge of course! The ultimate prey, the most powerful man in the world! Imagine the bragging rights I would have!"

The others looked at him as if he were insane, which, many began to question if he was. Vice President Bog held up a hand for silence and attention.

"A bit eccentric, yes, but his skill with a rifle is unparalleled. Besides, he's a member of the Capital army, what's a bit of dissension between the ranks?"

The others smirked, catching on, but Gaston was either unaware, didn't care, or didn't understand, as he continued to flex. After all, what better than a disillusioned army man to be a scapegoat?

"And I know you all have prices, desires, wishes of your own. Ursula, my dear,"

All eyes fell upon the purple skinned woman, who stopped applying lipstick for a second to look at the man speaking.

"You desire to rule the Atlantian kingdom and to have your revenge on the man who exiled you."

Ursula's confused face morphed into anger as she slammed her fist onto the table.

"Yes… I do."

Bog continued, turning his attention to Scar.

"And you, Taka,"

Scar's face of boredom morphed to annoyance, the sound of a low rumbling emitting from behind the snarl he held.

"I would prefer you didn't use my birth name. I abandoned it long ago."

Bog nodded.

"My apologies, Scar. Now, where was I? Ah yes, you are the second born of your generation, and with the birth of your nephew, I do believe it would be impossible for you to inherit the throne…. Unless, of course, we commit a bit of regicide?"

Scar smiled at the word, leaning on his hands, his interest now piqued.

"Go on."

The Vice President grinned as he changed his focus.

"You, Captain Hook, I do believe you have a vested interest in a certain Navy brat? One who, as President, I would be happy to deliver to you."

James Hook snarled at the mention of the naval brat in question.

"Blast that Pan! I want the brat's hide as a trophy!"

The grin upon their benefactor's face grew even wider, his focus moving again.

"Ms. De Ville, while you may have a very large sum of money, you must agree that everyone else around you in your state is a poor, pathetic fool. Imagine what you could do if you ran the state?"

Cruella merely threw her head back and laughed.

"Darling, you've my interest for a while now. Do go on, you already have my support."

The man nodded, shifting his eyes around the room to see how to speak to next, but was interrupted from his search by a cough.

"Alright, here's the thing Cherny,"

The vice president turned his head to Hades, amused at the nickname he was given by the man.

"Yes?"

Hades now had his hands clasped in front of his face, a solemn expression one his lips.

"So, it's all well and good that you can do all these great things, but you're forgetting the fact that there three royals here. What can you offer to us?"

Jafar quirked an eyebrow at the use of the word 'us'. He was aware of Grimhilde and The Queen of Hearts, but Hades, as far as he was aware, was not of royal blood.

"You're of royal blood?"

Hades' gaze snapped to Jafar, a slight flare of the nostrils enough to indicate the man was not happy.

"What? You don't think I could be?"

Jafar held up his hands to the screen in surrender.

"I meant no offense, but as you know, the royals are… highly publicized by all. And as it happens, I've never seen or heard of you as one, only knowing of you from our business dealings."

Hades sighed, accepting the point.

"Yeah, yeah, fair enough. Well, you have to my brothers. Poseidon and Zeus?"

A few eyes went wide with revelation, though most managed to keep their composure.

"You're brothers with the two most powerful men in the Olympus state?"

Hades growled and rolled his hands to get them to finish speaking about his brothers.

"Yes, yes, I'm related to those two jackasses. Well, Po is cool with me, it's just Zeus whose the jackass."

He rolled his eyes, the tinges of bitterness in his voice.

"But since he's head of the family and the Chairman of the Board, they all follow his lead. And the rest, well, they're all nuisances, looking down on me from their comfy clouds, drinking their ambrosia as they laugh and mock me. For what? Why for being given, not taking, but forced to take this role."

"And what role is that?"

Hades' eyes turned to Jafar once more, broken from his ranting, but the rage now a cool and collected bitterness.

"They call me the undertaker. I do what none of them will. Their messes, their failures, their… accidents. I clean it up, I take care of it, AND I AM THE ONE WHO DOES ALL THE DAMN WORK! AND THEY SIT THERE AND JEST AND JEER AT ME? WHO GAVE ANY OF THEM THE RIGHT?"

He unleashed a violent scream of rage, his greyish-blue hair erupting into brilliant red fire. The others gasped at the raging sight, but just as quickly as it was lit, the fire died down to a cool blue, then nothing, returning back to hair. He ran his hand through his hair, his breathing heavy, but more evenly paced.

"Alright, I'm cool, I'm cool."

Chern merely smiled at Hades.

"So you do know what I offer you."

Hades nodded slowly, turning his head to the side, his voice a low murmur.

"Yeah, I do."

Bog's smile evolved into a grin.

"Good. Some of you want absolute power. Others, unimaginable wealth. Some of you desire greatness. But above all… You all seek a vengeance upon those who have wronged you."

He watched as his assembled conspirators mumbled and nodded in agreement, the resentment rising within them all.

"And that is what I offer you. Not just power. Not just wealth. Not just greatness. But I offer you the chance to make those who hurt you suffer. To beg for mercy. To rule over them. What say you?"

The room became deathly still at the question, until at last the silence was broken by Hades.

"Alright. I'm in."

"As am I."

It was Ursula who spoke next, nodding her head at Hades.

"Very well, I don't see a better alternative."

Scar sighed and leaned back. Soon all but Jafar was in agreement, and all eyes turned to him. He rubbed his temples in thought.

"You all understand that, if we should fail,"

"We won't."

Jafar gave Vice President Chern. A. Bog a withering glance.

"IF we fail, then we all have a lot to lose. You royals would lose your status, and for almost all of us, we'd be banished. Or beheaded."

He watched as a James rubbed his throat in discomfort. But it was not Bog who retorted, but Ursula.

"You can't get something for nothing you know. We could sit here and debate this, or go along our merry ways without ever trying. But if we do, then we resign ourselves to these miserable lives. I am not going to let Triton and his rabble get the better of me."

Jafar appraised Ursula with a newfound respect, even if it was marginal. It was then the bagged man, who referred to himself as 'Oogie Boogie', who spoke.

"Come on old boy, you want me to roll some dice for you? See if luck is on our side?"

Jafar sighed in resignation, lifting his hand dismissively in defeat.

"Alright. So, what, exactly, is this… plan of yours?"

Mickey 'Mouse' Disney awoke to the sound of his phone ringing, and groggily he reached out and grabbed it, clumsily swiping it to answer, his voice tired and almost a mumble.

"Hello, Detective Mickey. What? Oh shit, alright, I'll be there ASAP."

The news of the jailhouse murder awoke Mickey quickly, and he scrambled out of bed to get dressed. He was a short man, just shy of being five foot, four inches. He had a mess of short red hair that, while normally was combed back and kempt, was wild from the bed. He had no facial hair or any marks on his face, leaving an unblemished young man who shone with both naivety and courage. He raced over to the nearby dresser, retrieving a fresh set of undergarments and a pair of socks. He moved to his closet, but was stopped by the sound of shuffling at the bed, and in his haste, he forget his girlfriend was with him. She mumbled something into her pillow, her tone annoyed and irritated.

"Sorry Minnie, there's been an incident at the station, I have to get there immediately."

She sighed and waved her hand to signal him to go. He returned to the bed and leaned over, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Love you."

He saw the faint traces of a smile, and he decided to move quickly lest he get onto her bad side. He opened his closet, the rows of dress shirts and pants almost all uniform in nature, their colours almost all the same. He grabbed a crisp white dress shirt and slid it on, followed up a pair of beige pants which he slid on after. He clipped on a pair of suspenders that matched his pants and slid on a beige overcoat, then, after taking a quick minute to ensure he looked fairly presentable, which he decided that he could live without a shower and comb his hair on the way, he grabbed his essentials. He slid his phone, keys, and wallet into his pockets, then draped his badge over his neck. He was about to leave when he remembered he needed his piece, even if it was just to the station. He moved to the dresser and opened it, retrieving a small black box. He twisted the knob until he heard a soft click, knowing the combination to the box by heart. He pulled out a small black pistol, quickly checking the clip before sliding it into the holster beside the box. He removed his jacket for a moment to put the holster on, then returned the overcoat to its rightful place. He shut the drawer with a sigh, always hating having to carry a weapon, but he knew what he was signing up for when he took the job. He gave himself a final once over before moving to the door, slipping on a pair of brown loafers that lay neatly by the entrance. He took a final look back at the closed room door, knowing he would have to make it up to Minnie later on. He considered take out from Mudka's, but he knew that probably wouldn't make up for it. He felt his phone buzz, no doubt a text from his Captain wondering what was taking him so long, and he groaned in annoyance, quickly exiting their apartment. They lived on the 4th floor, so he never bothered with the elevator, and he jogged down the steps to the underground parking lot. His car always stood out, a white full sized sedan with Police decals on the side and a light bar on top. He did find being a police had its benefits, as almost no one wanted to park near them in case they accidentally did something to it, so he generally had nothing near him, and today was no exception. He slid into his car with a practiced ease, though he did miss the keyhole and scratch the panel, adding another to the many early morning marks. He sighed and slowed down, getting it in the second time, turning the ignition and hearing the car roar to life, the dashboard lights flickering on. He pushed the radio button, the sounds of a loud newscaster speaking, and he grimaced as he turned it down to listen to the road reports. He checked the time, 3:54 AM, and he figured the roads should be mostly clear. As he pulled out of his spot and through the parking lot, he saw a few other people, some coming home from partying, and a few leaving to work. He saw one wave, but the tinted windows didn't really show he was waving back. As he left the underground parking and pulled onto the main street, he resisted the urge to turn on his sirens. He knew he had to be swift, but he also knew that he'd probably wake up everyone in the area if he turned on either the lights or the sirens. Instead he simply drove straight and swift, the drunks having mostly gone home, or were booted out, and there were no cars on the road anyways. His ride took less than 10 minutes, only hitting a single red, and even then it was just the tail end of it anyways. He pulled into the station, and he saw he wasn't the only one called in, the parking lot now half filled, and he guessed more would be coming soon. He found a decent spot and parked, stepping out and giving himself a quick stretch and a yawn. As he walked across and touched the doors he heard another car pull in, but he knew he'd see whoever it was in a few minutes anyways. He marched to cell block C, and as soon as he entered, all eyes were on him.

"Alright… What do we got?"


End file.
